A Reducation
by Anouka93
Summary: A 19 year old girl is murdered by Red John, and she has a past connection to Patrick Jane's daughter...
1. Chapter 1

"We got a single homicide here; looks like your guy, Red John. You wanna come down and handle this?"

Special Agent Teresa Lisbon nodded, though the local sheriff of Fresno County, to whom she was speaking could obviously not see her.

"Yeah, we're taking this one. Just have your boys watch the scene, I want it intact to have my team look at it. We'll be there in under an hour." Lisbon had barely hung up by the time she was swiftly rising out of her chair and striding out of her office into the bullpen where her team was, each agent at their desk fiddling with something or other, her consultant pretending to sleep, stretched out on his worn leather couch.

"We're up, guys, we got either Red John or a copycat, either way, it's our deal." The words weren't even out of her mouth when Jane sprung from his sofa, wide awake and was reaching for his suit jacket that was slung over the desk he rarely used. As he shimmied it over his recently unrolled long shirt sleeves he addressed Lisbon, demanding, "Where is it? Who's the victim? What condition is the body-"

Lisbon interrupted Jane and she thrust a brand new case file into his hands, saying, "Relax, we're going in the next few minutes. Victim is a nineteen year old girl called Laura Shannon, college student down in Fresno, she was found in bed in her apartment, killed according to Red John's typical patterns…"

"But we have to go there to be sure of anything…" Jane finished her sentence for her.

Lisbon nodded patiently, "We wouldn't think of doing anything else, Master Jane, now, _shall we?_" She motioned towards the elevators and Jane followed hot on her heels, the rest of the team trailing behind as they walked, adjusting their jackets, clipping badges into place, checking the guns on their hips. As they whole team crowded into the elevator, which was empty but for them, Jane's anticipation was tangible. He was like a child at a very morbid Christmas.

"Lisbon, this is definitely Red John." So said consultant Patrick Jane within five minutes of entering the crime scene, the victim's bedroom, in which her cold body now rested upon a blood-soaked duvet.

Lisbon hated herself for asking, "How can you be sure?"

"Please, look at those lacerations, this is classic Red John. But why…" Jane spun away from Lisbon and began walking slowing around the room, his hooded blue eyes roaming from corner to corner, scanning each wall and surface, covered in the recently deceased Laura Shannon's personal effects. Lisbon watched him for a moment as he paused to stare at a portion of the wall devoted to what looked like personal photographs, both old and new. Used to this behavior, Lisbon began to twist away, exhaling heavily as she once again caught sight of the still slightly wet signature mark of Red John; the dreaded smiley face, drawn in the victim's blood.

"Well, Jane, as far as I can tell this all looks pretty standard. We can talk to her family, see if it gives us any leads, but more likely than not this is just another dead end, so let's not get our hopes- Jane?" Lisbon stopped her speech mid-sentence, unsure of what Jane was doing. So, nothing new, as far as she was concerned. "Jane, what you got?"

Without answering Jane, eyes still transfixed to the same spot, reached to the wall plastered with pictures and plucked a single photograph from its adhesive tape grip. Lisbon couldn't see what was in the picture, and moved to look over Jane's shoulder, well aware that if she didn't look he wouldn't show her, if she didn't ask he wouldn't tell. "What is it, Jane?"

Jane held the photograph right up, inches away from his face, making no attempt to hide it from Lisbon, as if he'd forgotten she was there. Lisbon came to stand at Jane's left shoulder, and as the picture came into view she gasped. Two little girls stood smiling broadly in the picture, side by side in an outdoor area, probably a park. Lisbon instantly recognized both of them; with her long, straight chestnut hair, bright blue eyes and ears sticking out sweetly, the girl on the right was clearly a young Laura Shannon. She was probably around eight or nine years old, but Lisbon wasn't familiar enough with children to be sure.

The girl on the left was smaller, skinny and blonde, with shoulder length curls that fell endearingly messily around her face and eyes, also blue but slightly greyer, deeper, like…

"Jane, is that your _daughter?_"

Jane's jaw was clenched slightly and a vein was pulsing in his neck. He didn't take his eyes off the photograph when he next spoke.

"This girl- Laura Shannon- went to school with my daughter, they went from kindergarten to third grade in the same class..." Jane didn't feel the need to add that they only stopped going to school together because Red John had struck in early September, just weeks before his girl Charlotte was supposed to start her year in the fourth grade. He knew Lisbon could surmise that for herself. And he couldn't bear to remember how excited Charlotte had been to start her new school year, eager to use her new 'big kid' backpack (plain blue, with a butterfly on the front pocket, instead of Disney characters), how she'd been thrilled to get her new teacher's summer reading list, on which was included _Charlotte's Web,_ which she'd read twice by the end of August, once with her dad reading aloud to her at bedtime, and again by herself, carrying it outdoors to read while she laid on her belly in the grass. She'd been heartbroken when Charlotte died, turning too her father with tears in her eyes, asking, "Why did Charlotte have to die?"

_Why did Charlotte have to die? _These words had been rattling around Jane's head for ten years.

"Jane? You still here?"

Jane stirred at the sound of Lisbon's voice. He cleared his throat and lowered his arm, the pictured still clenched tightly in his hand. "I think this is supposed to be a message for me. It can't be a coincidence that this girl was friends with my daughter, it has to mean something."

Lisbon looked skeptical. "Well then, what does it mean, Jane?"

Jane shrugged, tucking the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket, and then stuck his hands in his pockets. "Well, that I don't know, Lisbon, but I'm positive that it will reveal itself in due time."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Great, then let's not do any police work, we'll just sit back and let the case solve itself? Hmm, what to do with all this free time?"

Jane enjoyed Lisbon's sarcastic side, and knew she was doing it to cheer him up, how she hated to see his forlorn attitude when he was reminded of his loss at Red John's hands. "I hear roller skating is back in vogue…"

"Seriously Jane, we need to be realistic about the fact that this could just be a coincidence. I mean, we already know that Red John likes to hurt young women and there are only so many of them in California. After ten years this had to happen at some point. There must have been, what, at least ten other girls in your daughter's class?"

As Lisbon spoke Agents Cho and Rigsby entered the room. Rigsby's eyebrows raised upon hearing what Lisbon was talking about, but Cho's face remained calm and stern, and he spoke first, saying, "Hey Boss, Jane. We've canvassed the neighborhood within a two-mile radius, didn't get a whole lot besides a few elderly neighbors who said the victim was a friendly girl, helped them out a few times. Most people around here haven't had direct contact with her, though." Rigsby added, "We got a number for her family home from her cellphone, her parents live in Madera, a Mr. and Mrs.…"

"Robert and Martha Shannon." Jane wasn't even looking at the rest of the team, as he had gone back to staring at the rest of the pictures on Laura's wall, now with an incriminating white space that had once housed the picture of two little girls who were both condemned to die young. Rigsby checked his notepad. "Er, yeah." Rigsby closed his notepad sheepishly and looked around at the rest of the team. Lisbon took a last sweeping glance around the room and then said, "Okay, Rigsby, take Jane and talk to the parents in Madera, Cho and I will go to her college and talk to some professors, students. You two meet us there when you're finished."

All three men gave Lisbon a questioning look, wondering why she was splitting up the team's usual combinations. Lisbon answered the question none of them asked. "We need Jane with the parents, it's most likely one or both of them knows something, and we all know he's the only one who'll be harsh enough to get anything out of them. Rigsby hates teenagers." Cho shrugged and left the room, apparently satisfied with this explanation. Rigsby looked embarrassed.

"Boss, I don't _hate _teenagers, I just- they're just rude, I don't understand why they have to-"

"It's okay Rigsby, just go see the parents." Lisbon turned to leave, and stopped, turned back to face Jane and said, "Behave. I get that you have to be tough to get answers, but there is a line between tough and cruel, and you know exactly where it is."

And with that Lisbon left the room, leaving Jane and Rigsby alone. Jane put his arm out with a flourish, pointing towards the door. "After _you_, sir." Rigsby rolled his eyes and led the way out.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jane and Rigsby rode in silence for most of the drive to Madera. Rigsby was still rattled by Lisbon thinking he was bad with teenagers, and Jane was wholly occupied, even more so than usual, by the present case. Finally, in the last few minutes of the ride, Rigsby burst out, "I mean, I know when we've had cases with teenagers I haven't always been very patient, but they push my buttons! They have no respect and feel entitled to anything they want! Cases are always way more complicated than they have to be when teenagers are involved! _That's _what I should have said to Lisbon."

Jane was startled by Rigsby's sudden outburst; having been far too wrapped in his own thoughts to notice him stewing in the driver's seat. Jane cleared his throat and said, "Well, Rigsby, I wouldn't worry about it, Lisbon is perfectly reasonable. I'm sure she was just trying to spare you the bother."

"Yeah, that's easy for you to say, Jane, I actually care what my boss thinks of me. I don't want her to go telling people that there's a high-risk demographic, like teenagers, that I don't know how to deal with. That's the kind of thing that gets in the way of promotions."

Jane raised his eyebrows, suddenly interested. "You looking to get a better job? Higher pay grade?" His voice was playful, but Rigsby wasn't lightening up. If anything he looked even more uncomfortable, knowing he'd shared too much in front of the nosiest person possible.

"Well, I have a son to think about. Ben's starting school soon, I mean, it's only preschool but elementary school isn't far off, and somebody's gotta pay for it. I won't let that burden fall entirely on Sarah."

Jane nodded understandingly, seeming to consider something, "True. Although, I'd be more concerned about what happens when your son hits puberty and you still hate teenagers."

"I do _not _hate teenagers, Jane, I told you, I-" Rigsby took his eyes off the road for a moment to see Jane grinning, and knew he'd only been screwing with him. "Jesus, Jane, you don't know how worried about that I am too… I know what it's like to have a father that doesn't really like you all that much. " He fell silent and looked like he was wishing he hadn't spoken.

Jane, sympathetic as he could be towards Rigsby, who he'd always liked, was starting to get annoyed. His head was aching and he was losing patience for Rigsby's fears over parenthood. Sure, they were valid, but couldn't he go talk about it with someone else? There was nothing Jane could say to him that wouldn't be exceptionally awkward for the both of them ("Don't worry, Rigs, it's not like you can mess it up any worse than I did"), and he was sure Rigsby knew that. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the case.

Jane was still leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed when the car pulled into the driveway of Mr. and Mrs. Shannon. He had only been half asleep and rose without summons when the car's engine went silent.

Rigsby was still in a sour mood, but seemed to have mainly gotten the complaints out of his system. "You ready for this? I mean, how well do you know these people?" He'd obviously overheard Jane and Lisbon's conversation about Laura Shannon.

Jane shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Not well, I must have met them maybe two or three times at school events." He didn't appear to want to say anymore and Rigsby let it drop as they approached the front door of a well-kept, if modest, two story house. Rigsby stood directly in front of the door as he rang the bell, while Jane hung back a little, looking away. After a moment of silence the door opened slowly to reveal a petite woman with dark hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail. She was attractive and well-kept, though wrinkles around her eyes and lips betrayed her age. Jane immediately recognized her as Laura Shannon's mother, though she didn't seem to recognize him.

Rigsby spoke first, revealing his badge inside his suit jacket as he said, "Hello, ma'am, we're sorry to bother you, I'm Agent Rigsby, this is Patrick Jane, we're from the California Bureau of Investigation, we're leading the investigation into your daughter's death. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?"

The woman looked sad, but unsurprised, and replied in a quiet voice, "Yes, of course, come in." She hadn't appeared to recognize Jane's name either, and continued to show no signs of recognition as Jane finally made eye contact with her as he and Rigsby walked past the door she held open for them. She then led the way into a very tidy looking living room, where Laura Shannon's father sat on the couch. Mr. Shannon was a physically fit looking man, his age only betrayed by the deep lines on his face, which had undoubtedly been etched deeper in the last 24 hours. As his wife entered the room with Rigsby and Jane following closely behind her he looked up from what had been occupying him: a small black book in his hands, which, upon closer inspection, Jane recognized as a photo album. Though he tried not to look, he couldn't help but notice that pictures of poor Laura were the focus of the album. Even upside-down and across the room, Jane could see Laura as a pretty baby with wisps of downy brunette hair; Laura as a bashful preteen, awkward in a pair of overalls, standing in front of a field; Laura as a post-pubescent college graduate, having grown into her looks and acquired new elegance.

Mrs. Shannon spoke first. "Robert, these gentlemen are from the CBI, they're here to talk about Laurie-" Mrs. Shannon halted her sentence sharply, looking embarrassed to have used an intimate name for her daughter. Sheepishly she amended, "Lauren." Mr. Shannon rose and offered his hand to Rigsby, who shook it. Jane kept his distance, still standing in the doorway, so Mr. Shannon made do with a moment of eye contact that revealed no recognition of Jane. Rigsby spoke first.

"Hello Sir, I'm Agent Wayne Rigsby, this is Patrick Jane, he's a consultant." As Rigsby spoke Mrs. Shannon sat down on the sofa looking frail and distant. Mr. Shannon, however, had become alert, almost frantic.

"You'll find who killed our daughter, won't you? Are you close?" He was still standing, facing Rigsby directly.

Rigsby looked uncomfortable. "We'll certainly do our best sir. We have reason to believe that the murder was committed by a man named Red John."

"Not just reason. Evidence. It's definitely Red John." Jane spoke without even glancing at the others. He was busy scrutinizing the family photographs that adorned the mantelpiece.

Rigsby looked nervously from Jane to the Shannons and continued, "Er, ah, well, yes, the evidence is highly indicative of Red John. He's been a highly prolific-"

Mr. Shannon cut him off urgently. "Red John? You mean that psychopath that's been on the news every six months since the early 90s? If you never caught him before, why should we think you'd catch him now?"

"I'm working on it. _Believe_ me." Jane spoke again, this time turning away from some decorative knick-knacks, and walking towards the couch on which Mrs. Shannon sat. He looked at the woman with sympathy in his eyes, and the touch of mischief that always seemed to live within them.

"Would you happen to have any tea?"


End file.
